


Hand of a God

by Inky



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, Cock Warming, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Edging, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Denial, Ruined Orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 10:33:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17364362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky/pseuds/Inky
Summary: The starlight passing the viewport that stretches over the ship’s cockpit is the only thing that cuts through the darkness; all of the lights are out, even the backlight on the command console. It makes the stars easier to see and, if one were to rely a little on the imagination, it would be more than simple to imagine that there is no spaceship. Nothing between bare, touch-warmed skin and the stars.





	Hand of a God

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift inspired by, and made for a certain duo who wish to remain anonymous. Some of you will know who. ;) Love you two. Please enjoy.
> 
> \--[elle](https://twitter.com/weavelle)

“Mmn.”

The starlight passing the viewport that stretches over the ship’s cockpit is the only thing that cuts through the darkness; all of the lights are out, even the backlight on the command console. It makes the stars easier to see and, if one were to rely a little on the imagination, it would be more than simple to imagine that there is no spaceship. Nothing between bare, touch-warmed skin and the stars. 

They sit together in the pilot’s chair—wordless, _breathless_ —and their palms run hot and slow over naked flesh. Their hair splays over their foreheads, tacky with half-dried sweat and tangled where they bump their heads together and breathe in each other’s air. Metallic fingers, blessed with just-above-average heat from their temperature regulators, stroke through jet black hair dampened by the sweat clinging to the strong, scarred back it lies against. 

“Do you need a break, Keith?”

His voice breaks the silence first, gentle and perhaps with a teasing lilt. The tease tapers into the softest groan as strong hands glide up his chest, squeezing firm pectoral muscles hard, and rolling dusky nipples beneath calloused thumbs.

“Never,” comes the rasping reply. Keith’s eyes glint in the starlight, and he tips his chin forward so their noses are slotted together. “... _Shiro_.”

Shiro’s head tips back with a muted gasp, and then another, sharper gasp when Keith tips his chin forward to flick his tongue against Shiro’s top lip. Just once, just enough to coax out Shiro’s shuddering breath. Shaking, Shiro opens his mouth more, lets his tongue touch Keith’s between their parted lips, just enough for a taste. _Only_ a taste. Keith breathes his air, and it is exquisite. Keith tests his willpower with a flex of his irresistible body around his cock, and it is _exquisite_. But Shiro is a strong man, and he plants a hand on the center of Keith’s chest to push him an inch or two away. 

“Mnn. It’s only been an hour, baby,” he murmurs. It only takes a single flex of his ass and thighs, and it has Keith gasping and whimpering for him, desperate. 

“Please—“

“Be still. Relax.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. I know you can, baby. Be patient for me. We have all the time in the universe.”

“Shiro—“

Shiro frowns. Tips his head to the side. He lifts his flesh hand to Keith’s face and trails his fingertips down, down to the sharp angle of his jaw. Keith’s eyes are dark, unfocused. A little crossed. “...You don’t think you can be good for me?”

“I can.” It comes out in a high-pitched sigh.

Shiro’s not convinced. He noses Keith’s lowered temple. Presses a lingering kiss there, and even that little show of affection has Keith’s blunt nails digging into the meat of his upper biceps. Shiro brushes Keith’s hair off of his back, gathering it up in one dark loop around his prosthetic fist, and holds it up and off of Keith’s hot body.

“Can you?”

“ _Yes_.”

“You look like you need to cum. You look like you can’t hold it anymore. Like you can’t be a good boy and wait.”

“I can do it,” Keith almost weeps it, face crumpling as his back gives out. His precious body trembles on top of and around Shiro, and his face presses firmly into the crook of his neck. His eyelashes are damp. “I can do it, Shiro.”

“If you say so. You’re sure you don’t need me to fuck you right now?” Shiro whispers into his ear. Keith’s response is incoherent, breathless, a mere mewl. Shiro takes it as a sign to go on, “Can you feel me inside you, sweetheart? Can you feel how hard I am?”

Keith doesn’t answer, and instead whines into Shiro’s shoulder. And then, to Shiro’s pleased surprise, he bites. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to sting. Enough to make Shiro draw in a hiss through his teeth and pull Keith’s head back with the prosthetic still tangled in his hair. Keith gasps as he comes up, eyes rolling and a line of spit connecting his swollen, parted lips to the fresh teeth dents on Shiro’s shoulder.

“That’s playing dirty,” Shiro says, low and dangerous. Keith licks his lips and swallows; Shiro traces the bob of his adam’s apple with his eyes, and can’t help but to lean forward and lick it. The frantic, garbled sound that comes from Keith’s throat is sinful.

“I’m _close_ ,” his voice is hoarse and strangled from having his head tipped back so far. Shiro smiles and watches the starlight dancing over his sweat-shiny cheeks. “Oh god, _Shiro_ —“

“You could cum just from this? Having your hair pulled?” Shiro asks. He noses along the dips of Keith’s exposed throat, and sighs against his pulse line. He teases with teeth and tongue, forcibly yanking out whimper after quivering whimper. “You could cum just from having your neck kissed?”

“I-I—“

“You’d just leave me hanging? After I’ve let you hold my cock inside of you for so long? You’ve been so good, keeping it warm for me, you’d be bad now?”

“ _I’m not bad_ ,” Keith almost sobs. Shiro massages his scalp with the pads of his prosthetic fingers, and Keith shudders around him like he’s been touched by the hand of a god.

“You’re not a bad boy?”

“Nnn- _no_.”

“What are you?”

“Nngh—“

Shiro tightens his grip and a line of drool starts to trickle down the side of Keith’s chin, along the sharp curve of his jaw, down the column of his throat. With a pleased sigh, Shiro leans in to lick it up. 

“What are you Keith?” He repeats himself, teeth back at that sensitive, throbbing blood vessel of Keith’s neck. He teases it again, sliding the tip of his tongue along it and sucking a deep, dark red bruise just under the bend of Keith’s jaw. Keith chokes, fluttering around Shiro’s cock. Shiro’s prosthetic readjusts its grip, pulling tighter. “I _said_ —“ He bites Keith’s neck hard enough to leave a ring of teeth marks. “ _What are you?_ ”

“A good boy! I’m a good boy!” Keith sobs genuinely this time, prompting Shiro to lift his head to watch tears roll, unbidden, down his sweating cheeks. He quivers and, with a choked-off little cry, spills two weak little drops of cum onto Shiro’s belly. With pupils blown wide and jaw slack, Keith descends deeper into the warm, dark embrace Shiro has enveloped him in. 

“That doesn’t look like nearly enough,” Shiro breathes. Keith’s responding, wrecked whimper sends a jolt straight to Shiro’s cock. It twitches inside of Keith’s oversensitive walls, and he jumps and trembles like a leaf. Finally, Shiro unwinds his prosthetic from Keith’s hair, letting it tumble back down over his warm back. He rubs his fingers together, shifting the temperature of his hand to _cold_ , and slides his fingertips down the nubs of Keith’s spine. With a jolt, goosebumps rise all along Keith’s arms and thighs, his hair standing visibly on end. Shiro teases at his rim, stretched wide and swollen around Shiro’s cock. It clenches against his touch, pulling a deep, guttural groan from him.

“Shiro,” Keith whispers. His hand is at Shiro’s cheek, now, his trembling, reverent fingertips brushing along the edge of his jaw. His expression is somewhere between broken and lost, yearning for something, though Shiro isn’t sure Keith knows what it is.

“What is it, baby?” He plays dumb, because the whimper Keith lets out sends another thrill right up his spine.

“...Please… fuck me… pl-please. I need… I need it. I can’t hold on. I’m not—“

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro murmurs as he watches more tears trickle down Keith’s cheeks. He brushes them away with his fingertips, then draws Keith in and peppers his cheeks with kisses. His lips trail closer and closer to one bright red ear. “Oh, sweetheart. Do you really think I’m going to fuck you now, after you already came?”

Keith stiffens, clenching hard around Shiro’s cock and making him hiss and groan. He presses the cold fingers of his prosthetic against Keith’s rim again, threatening to push them inside along with his cock. 

“It wasn’t enough,” Keith pleads. His exalted stroking of Shiro’s cheek turns into a grip on his jaw, desperate. “It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t—it wasn’t a real—I didn’t cu—“

“It looked real,” Shiro interrupts, voice a harsh whisper. Keith’s face crumples and he whines, low and needy.

“Please, Shiro.” He inhales, shakily. “... _Please_.”

Shiro clicks his tongue. “So greedy,” he chides. “You want me to let you cum _again_ , when I haven’t even gotten to cum once?”

“I c-can’t wuh...wait anymore.”

“You can.”

“Shiro—“

“You _will_.” Shiro’s voice commands attention, and Keith is helpless to it, slumping forward against Shiro until he’s huddled up on top of him, arms folded between their chests. “You’ll be a good boy. I know you will, baby. You’re so good for me.”

Shiro idly strokes Keith’s back, lounging in his throne of a pilot’s chair, his beautiful boy a whimpering, broken mess in his lap. Smiling to himself, Shiro tips his head up and looks out the viewport into the passing stars. He admires the shimmering starlight; he watches a comet pass by, bright and shining with a long,splendid tail that tapers into fading, glimmering light.

“Oh, sweetheart. The stars are so beautiful,” Shiro breathes, awestruck. Keith is still shaking and hiccupping against Shiro’s collarbone, worshipping his clavicle with wet, open-mouthed kisses and soft pleas whispered against his skin. Much too busy to admire starlight.

That won’t do.

“Keith… why don’t you look at the stars?”

“Mnng?” comes the mumbled, incoherent reply. Shiro just smiles, then, as his prosthetic floats up between the two of them and gathers one of Keith’s pretty, slender wrists in his metallic grip. He guides it over and back, until Keith’s wrist is behind his back. He presses it there meaningfully, and Keith obediently keeps it in place while Shiro grabs his other wrist and guides it back as well, until he’s got both arms locked behind his back, and held in place by Shiro’s prosthetic. Keith tilts his head at him, brows knitted, mouth hanging open on an unsaid question.

“My sunshine,” Shiro sighs. Without warning, he pushes Keith back on his dick, taking away the support of his flesh hand and letting him fall back before Shiro catches him with his prosthetic. The sudden movement punches a yelp out of Keith and, as he’s jostled abruptly, his body squeezes tight around Shiro’s cock, like a vice. It’s too much even for Shiro who, with a snarl, gives one single, yet powerful, thrust.

Keith’s mouth stretches open on a silent scream as he arches dramatically backwards, supported only by the pillar of Shiro’s prosthetic arm. Head tipped back, Keith has a perfect, albeit upside-down view of the window out into the stars. Shiro watches him, transfixed by his ethereal beauty there, bent backwards and split open by the cock inside of him. Keith is wordless, _soundless_ , taking in half-aborted, choked little breaths. His wide eyes reflect the starlight above him and around him.

“Do you see the stars, baby? Look at them for me. Look at how beautiful they are. Just like you,” Shiro whispers. When he runs his flesh hand up Keith’s taut belly, and when he tickles along the bottom of Keith’s jutting ribcage, Keith jolts and quivers on top of him, still opening and shutting his mouth like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. He’s gorgeous. Shiro pinches a nipple between his index and middle fingers. “...Want to know the best thing about being alone here, with you?”

Keith’s eyes dart to Shiro, somehow hearing him even at the peak of his pleasure-pain.

Shiro’s eyes twinkle, a little smile coming to his lips. “I can fuck you as hard and as long as I want.” Keith’s breath hitches. “...And _no one_ can interrupt us.”

“ _Please_ ,” Keith mouths, unable to conjure sound. “ _Please fuck me_.”

Maybe it’s the sight of Keith’s body bent so far backwards, maybe it’s the way he gasps and whimpers when Shiro tugs at a nipple and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger. Or maybe Shiro isn’t as strong of a man as he thought because, in a second, he’s yanking Keith back up and manhandling his legs so his feet are planted on the pilot’s chair on either side of Shiro’s thighs. It’s all the warning Keith gets before Shiro cups his hands under his ass, lifts him up almost all the way off his dick, and slams him down again.

Keith finds his voice and cries out Shiro’s name in exaltation, like a prayer, voice immediately hoarse and tears immediately in his eyes. He barely has any strength in his legs to keep up with Shiro’s brutal pace, but Shiro doesn’t need the extra leverage. His lifting and thrusting is so long overdue that he doesn’t even feel the burn in his muscles as he fucks up into Keith with the desperation of a rutting animal.

He feels Keith’s hands in his hair, dully, and the scratch of claws against his scalp. Keith’s eyes are squeezed shut, so he can’t see the gold seeping into his sclera nor his pupils narrowing into slits, but he can see the elongation of Keith’s fangs as he chants Shiro’s name.

Keith doesn’t last longer than a minute or two. When he cums, it’s explosive and messy, ropes of it landing over Shiro’s tits and all over Keith’s stomach. Shiro is sure to watch Keith’s face; the way his eyes go cross and his eyelids flutter unevenly, like his brain is momentarily malfunctioning in the midst of an intense orgasm. He bites his lip hard enough to make it bleed, and Shiro leans in without thinking to lick the blood that wells up around Keith’s canine fang.

That alone has Keith clenching and fluttering around Shiro one last time, and it’s enough to send him catapulting over the edge. He cums with a shout and a dozen expletives, laced with praise and all of the terms of endearment he’s ever used for Keith. _Honey, baby, sweetheart, bunny, sunshine._

He bounces Keith on his cock all the way through it, even though Keith is mostly limp and barely hanging on by the time Shiro has milked himself dry inside of Keith’s body. His flesh hand trails down, touching the rim of Keith’s well-abused hole, and feels a bolt of pride when he feels the overflowing cum that has frothed up around Keith’s rim. 

Keith shies away from Shiro’s touch, whimpering and trying to get away. Soothingly, Shiro hushes him, wrapping both arms around him and cradling him close.

“Shh, baby. Shh. You’re okay. I got you. We’re done… you were so good for me. So perfect and beautiful. I love you, sunshine. I love you,” Shiro chants his mantra into Keith’s ear. “Tell me what you need, baby. I’ll give you anything you need. Anything.”

“...Sore... hot,” Keith whispers, almost inaudible where he’s tucked in the crook of Shiro’s shoulder.

“Do you need a cooldown?” 

There’s a pause before Shiro feels Keith nod his head, just once. Shiro presses a long, adoring kiss to his temple.

“We can do that. I need to pull out. I’ll take it slow, honey. Hang tight.”

As slow and as gently as he can manage, Shiro cups his hands under Keith’s thighs and draws him up. Keith shivers the whole time, closing his eyes against the overstimulation and the borderline pain. When Shiro’s cock slips out, he’s quick to replace it with the tip of his middle finger on his flesh hand, giving Keith something warm to clench around. Shiro smiles, enamored. He’s still so soft and pliant, almost gaping in his neediness to be filled with something, anything. Shiro could probably slide three fingers in, and Keith wouldn’t even register it…

But he doesn’t, instead massaging the pucker of Keith’s hole until it has recovered some from the ordeal. Keith quakes with the overstimulation, mewling into Shiro’s collar, until he falls silent and starts to doze.

“Kosmo,” Shiro says aloud into the darkened cockpit. The smell of ozone briefly hits Shiro’s nose before Kosmo zaps into existence in front of him, tail wagging. “Hey, buddy. Take Keith and my arm? You know what to do.”

Kosmo trots forward and leans his head against Keith’s back. He waits patiently for Shiro’s prosthetic to settle on his mane and, with another zap, Kosmo disappears with both Keith and the arm.

Left alone in the cockpit, Shiro gives himself a long moment to gaze up at the stars. A god of indulgence, he relaxes in his throne, chest and belly still sticky and painted with the fruits of his efforts to bring his most faithful disciple to mind-numbing orgasm. Absently, Shiro trails his finger through the cum drying on his pecs, marveling at how much and how far Keith had released. It’s gratifying in the best way a virile young man like himself can be gratified, and it draws a weary smile to his lips. 

More pressing, however, are the faint sensations he feels on his prosthetic arm, thirty some-odd feet away from him, and separated by a couple thick, metal walls. He feels slender arms cuddling with it, and a warm, pliant mouth around his middle finger. When he presses down on the little wet tongue that rises to meet the pad of his metallic finger, he feels the vibrations of a moan around it. That’s his cue to get moving.

With some reluctance, Shiro stands and leaves the pilot’s chair. The lights come back on with a vocal command, already dimmed during the foreplay hours before their little session in the pilot’s chair. Clothes are still strewn around the living area of the homesteader vessel; two shirts, one with the buttons popped off, two pairs of pants, some socks. Only one pair of undergarments, because of course Keith had to be tantalizing and provocative in those mostly spandex leggings that could’ve been painted on.

Those, Shiro would like to note, _did_ get ripped off, and are currently draped sadly over the armrest of their couch with a gaping hole in the crotch.

In the kitchenette, Shiro gathers up a few juice pouches and a protein snack bar. He also grabs a little bag of Keith’s favorite alien trail mix, complete with little dried fruits in the shape of corkscrews, that sort of taste like Vanilla Coke But Better, according to Keith. 

Setting everything aside, Shiro ducks into the bathroom to give himself a quick wipedown, then grabs a couple towels he’d put in the dryer unit earlier. They’re wonderfully warm, and he drapes them both around his neck to free up his hand and carry the supplies back to the bedroom, where his sleeping beauty awaits.

But it turns out Keith isn’t sleeping when Shiro returns to the small room and the gigantic, double king-sized bed that nearly stretches from wall to wall. Instead, Keith lies there on his side, clutching Kosmo with his face buried in his fur. Kosmo’s tail wags as soon as Shiro comes in.

“Hey, baby,” Shiro whispers. “I’m here. Can I touch you?”

Keith lifts his head and looks up at Shiro, bleary-eyed with pupils still blown, tear tracks still on his face. “...Hold me.”

It’s all the go ahead Shiro needs. He crawls up onto the bed, walking forward on his knees until he gets to the headboard, where he sits up with his back propped up on a few pillows.

“C’mere. You need to drink something.”

Slowly, wearily, Keith pulls himself away from Kosmo and releases Shiro’s prosthetic, which had been tucked between him and the space wolf. Shiro uses it to grab one of the juice pouches, which he has ready with the straw poking out by the time Keith makes it to him and collapses beside him, curled up against his side with one leg hitched up over both of Shiro’s. Shiro holds the juice box for him while Keith drains it, his eyes unfocused and hazy as he hollows his cheeks around the straw. When it’s empty, Shiro readies another, and Keith drains that, too.

“You did so good for me, baby,” Shiro praises. He pets Keith’s hair and hand-feeds him a few pieces of the protein bar, pushing it between soft, pliant lips and massaging Keith’s throat as he swallows. “We’re all done now. I love you so much.”

While Shiro talks to a mostly silent, nearly comatose Keith, he hooks his flesh hand on Keith’s hitched-up thigh and lifts it more, groaning as he watches his own seed dribbling out of Keith’s hole and dripping down along the curve of his ass. Shiro’s quick with one of the warm towels, however, catching it and cleaning Keith up before it can stain the bedsheets. Warbling, Keith tangles his legs in the warm towel and, the next time his fluttering eyelids open, there’s lucidity in his gaze.

“Hey,” Shiro whispers. He strokes the backs of his knuckles down Keith’s cheek, admiring his sleepy smile. “Are you doing okay? Feeling like yourself again?”

“Yeah. I feel good. I feel _great_ ,” Keith yawns. Before he can lay his head back down, Shiro adjusts himself on the bed so he’s lying down properly. His prosthetic floats across the room to turn out the lights, then presses another button that slowly opens the skylight right over their bed, revealing the beautiful, distant stars. Keith hums, laying his head down on Shiro’s chest, and joins him in looking up at the rest of the universe. “That maneuver back there. Making me look up at the stars with my hands behind my back… you think of that in the moment, or was it something you planned?”

Shiro snorts and shrugs, sheepish. “I’ve been thinking about that since we left Tcaerilx.”

Keith blurts out a laugh, incredulous, and slaps his forehead as he shakes his head.

“I should’ve known. You nerd.”

“You loved it.”

“Mmm. Sure. Fine.”

Shiro slips his arm around Keith’s shoulders and pulls him closer, and sends his prosthetic arm to the nightstand to recharge overnight on the ambient quintessence. Once the blue light on his shoulder port has gone dark, he and Keith are cast into true darkness, nothing but the stars to keep them company.

“Oh,” Keith says suddenly, caught in the middle of a yawn. Shiro feels the brush of his eyelashes against his chest as Keith closes his eyes. He drapes an arm around Shiro’s waist, too, squeezing him tight. “I love you too.”

Something warm and full and wholesome settles in Shiro’s heart; the perfect ending to the perfect night. As Keith pulls up the blankets to wrap around them, Shiro pulls him closer. Just before Shiro falls asleep however, he feels Keith’s lips on his chest, and a sly tongue swirl once around his nipple and top it with a kiss. He feels Keith’s smile against his dampened skin.

“Next time, it’s my turn to take you apart.”

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to [nautilicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilicious) here on AO3 for their wonderful beta reading and editing work.
> 
> You can follow my [twitter here](https://twitter.com/weavelle). You can follow my [tumblr here.](https://weavelle.tumblr.com)


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